


A Toast to the Happy Couple

by FeatherBlack (jatty)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anathema Device Ships Aziraphale/Crowley, Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Couch Cuddles, Crowley Just Wants To Be Loved (Good Omens), Crowley Needs a Hug (Good Omens), Didn't Know They Were Dating, Everyone Thinks They're Together, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-05 20:44:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20495063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jatty/pseuds/FeatherBlack
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley receive an invitation to Anathema and Newt's wedding which includes Anathema's phone number. To be polite, Aziraphale calls to give his congratulations and ends up invited to help plan the wedding! Little did he know it would be his relationship with Crowley that had everyone's attention.Or, Crowley is helplessly pining and everyone can see it. Newt tries to help and makes it worse.





	1. Chapter 1

Aziraphale wanted space. Not a plethora of space or for things to go back to how they were Pre-Armageddon, but he was feeling a tad bit...cramped. 

He was reading on his couch with Crowley laid up next to him. The demon was sleeping on his back, his knees up and hooked over the back of the couch behind Aziraphale’s shoulders. Every now and then he would twitch and his thigh would bump unexpectedly into Aziraphale’s arm. He’d been snoozing for about a day, his forgotten cup of tea sitting on the coffee table still steaming from a small miracle to keep it hot and fresh for whenever he decided to wake up. 

The demon’s boots, his snakeskin feet, would occasionally twitch too close for comfort toward Aziraphale’s other shoulder—like the threat of a kick. 

Yes, Aziraphale wanted space.

Not that he would tell Crowley to move further away or seat himself at his reading chair across the room. He rather liked being close, but this tight, cramped feeling was staring to gnaw away at him. Crowley had been spending more and more time at the shop, getting comfortable and testing boundaries. 

He would help out with the dusting (sort of) and rearranging the shelves. He was good at making unwelcome customers get the idea and Aziraphale appreciated that. Crowley would also put his feet on stacks of books and bend pages of volumes he flipped through with no intent to read them. 

It was painfully obvious that he didn’t fit in to the aesthetic of the shop any more than Aziraphale fit in with the décor of Crowley’s flat. And yet, here the demon was—the lion laying down with the lamb—at least trying to adapt. He came over because he knew how poorly Aziraphale adapted to his flat, and it wasn’t always perfect, but it was nice to have him around. 

If only it didn’t leave the shop feeling claustrophobic. It shouldn’t—there was plenty of room—but perhaps he’d gotten too accustomed to having the shop all to himself. 

Crowley twitched again, his left knee now snug in the bend of Aziraphale’s neck.

Yes. He was too accustomed to having the place to himself. 

“My dear boy, your leg is playing the part of Napoleon,” Aziraphale said, pushing his hand against Crowley’s thigh.

The demon moaned sleepily and shuffled around on the couch a bit, opening his eyes.

“What? What’ssat?”

“I said your leg is playing the part of Napoleon. A futile attempt at invasion into my _personal_ space,” Aziraphale said, pushing Crowley’s thigh again until the demon retracted his legs and sat up.

“Sorry,” Crowley hissed, stretching groggily and settling in to a new position on the couch. He reached for his cup of tea and took a sip. “It’s cold in here.”

“Do you want me to get you a blanket? I have several upstairs.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Crowley said, licking his lips and taking another drink of tea. “I should be going. I need to water my plants—make sure they’re not thinking about growing leaf spots. Those bastards will start thinking they can get away with anything if I leave them alone for more than a couple of days.”

“Well, if you do think it’s necessary...” Aziraphale said, fixing Crowley with a disapproving stare. He knew how Crowley treated his plants and it was far from anything the angel could properly condone.

“Trust me. It’s necessary,” Crowley said, fixing him with a woozy smile as he sipped his tea, his head swaying the slightest bit back and forth like a snake trying to keep its balance before moving between branches of a tree. 

Part of Aziraphale wished the plants were just here so Crowley could, perhaps, go upstairs for a few hours and tend to them (get his pent up emotions out) and come back down for dinner. Another part was glad he didn’t have to hear the screaming. If Aziraphale were ever to sleep, he was positive he’d have nightmares about the screaming Crowley did at those poor plants.

“Can you check the letterbox on your way out?” Aziraphale asked, turning the page in his book. 

“Expecting some new catalog are we, angel?” Crowley asked, finishing his tea in three quick swallows and standing up with a loud groan. He stretched his arms over his head, then sauntered over toward the front door of the shop where the sign was politely flipped to “Closed.”

“Oh, the bill for the electricity usually comes in the next few days,” Aziraphale answered. 

“You mean you don’t just _miracle_ the lights on?” Crowley asked, hanging partially out the door in order to reach into the letterbox. 

“No! I didn’t want reprimanded for frivolous miracles again.”

“You miracled my tea warm.”

“Well, one tea warming is certainly less notable than a daily miracle for electricity.”

“I’m just saying, it’s still frivolous,” Crowley said, coming back to the couch to hand Aziraphale’s the letters. 

Bill. Advertisement. Flier, flier, flier. Advertisement. 

Ah, this was different.

“Look at this one, Crowley!” Aziraphale said, holding up a white, square envelope with rather luxurious golden engravings. “‘To Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley! That’s us!”

“Who’s it from, angel?” Crowley asked, standing behind the couch so as to read over Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

Aziraphale examined the envelope with a smile. He rather liked it and couldn’t place his finger on why. The parchment was fine stock, an appealing shape… Why, it reminded him of the calling cards he used to get back in the 1800s inviting him to the very best of parties. Or, perhaps, he was excited that he had received a letter addressed to both himself and Crowley. 

“Angel? Who’s it from?”

“Oh—oh yes. I suppose I should open it, shouldn’t I?” Aziraphale said, laughing to himself. 

“Would help,” Crowley said. And suddenly, his nose was pressed to Aziraphale’s ear—nuzzling him but only the slightest bit. Aziraphale had the thought Crowley was just as excited to receive a letter meant for both of them. 

“Hand me my letter opener, would you? It’s on my desk over there.”

“Just tear it.”

“No! That would _ruin_ it,” Aziraphale said, jerking away from Crowley’s incessant nuzzling of his ear and neck. “Please?”

“Fine, fine.”

Crowley retrieved the letter opener and gave it to him—but not without the fanfare of first coming behind him with it and holding it to his neck. Not so close as to actually press against his skin, but enough to send the message that he was pretending to slit the angel’s throat.

“Oh, do calm down,” Aziraphale said, grabbing Crowley’s hand in order to get the letter opener out of it without grabbing it by the blade. 

“I’m just trying to play, angel,” Crowley said, nuzzling him one last time before stepping back. “What does it say?”

Aziraphale slit the top of the envelope carefully and pulled out the white card inside. Lovely, matte cardstock—a suitable weight and thickness. 

“Angel, the suspense is _killing_ me. What does it say?”

“It’s a wedding invitation!” Aziraphale said, smiling as he ran his fingers over the front of the card—decorated with the same gold embellishment as the envelope. An elegant “You’re Invited” in not too ornate, not too over-pronounced script. 

“For whom?” Crowley asked, his forehead pressed to the back of Aziraphale’s head—nuzzling him again. He did this from time to time, usually when it was time for him to go back to his own flat. It could be a bit much to be rubbed on as if by a pet cat wanting treats, but Aziraphale would rather tolerate it than put a stop to it. There was a time in the past when Crowley used to massage his shoulders at odd intervals throughout the day and he asked him politely to stop—meaning just for the moment—and Crowley had never done it again.

“That nice American girl and the gentleman from the airbase. Anathema and Newt!”

“Oh, Book Girl!” Crowley declared. “When’s the wedding? How did she get your address?”

“I imagine I’m not so hard to find. She is a witch after all. Oh, but I am excited!”

“When’s the date, angel?” Crowley asked again, his lips dangerously close to Aziraphale’s neck. 

Aziraphale had been having the inkling these past few months that the demon wanted to kiss him, but he’d never tried. Aziraphale, for what it was worth, wasn’t opposed but didn’t feel right making that move on his own. After all, what if he was wrong? A move like that could ruin everything. 

“Oh, you really are useless,” Crowley said, snatching the invite out of Aziraphale’s hand. “October. Great. Lovely. Uh—put me down for the fish.”

“You’re planning to eat?” Aziraphale asked, turning around on the couch to smile at the demon.

“I’ll have to keep up the appearance of being human, even if you already told the witch and her beau that I’m a snake.” He hissed the word into the back of Aziraphale’s neck and dropped the card down into the angel’s lap. “I have to go. Dinner? Night after tomorrow?”

“Yes, yes perfect. You decide the place,” Aziraphale said, picking up the card and examining it happily. 

“Goodbye, angel,” Crowley said, pausing briefly between his word of departure and the word of endearment, like he wanted to say something more.

Aziraphale peered after him as Crowley made his way to the door and left—watched as the illegally parked Bentley roared into life and started off down the street. 

He returned his focus to the card and smiled at the little handwritten note added just for him and Crowley beneath the typed details for the wedding. It stated she and Newt would be so happy to have them in attendance, that Adam Young and the other children would be joining, and even added a phone number so that he might call if he had any questions regarding human customs.

He didn’t know why she thought he wasn’t familiar with human wedding ceremonies and customs, but tried not to dwell on it. Maybe that was more so for Crowley. After all, it seemed odd for a demon to frequent love ceremonies since they weren’t technically known for experiencing love. 

Aziraphale tried not to dwell on that thought either. 

He set to making arrangements, marking the date on the calendar and picking out what suit he wished to wear. It felt in bad form to wear the one he had been wearing at the airbase. He liked his suit, it was his favorite, but he didn’t want the humans to think he was only in possession of one.

The following afternoon after he’d received the invitation, he decided it would be in good form to give Anathema a call and congratulate her on her engagement and the wedding. 

“Do extend my greetings to Newt when he gets home,” Aziraphale said halfway through the call. 

“I will! And you can tell Mr. Crowley I wish him well—or bad. Or however demons want to be wished,” she said, laughing. 

“Yes, I certainly will. I think he was absolutely _thrilled_ to be included on your invitation. Outside of myself and Mr. Shadwell, I don’t believe he has many friends.”

“I just took a wild guess at putting him on the card. I assumed if you’ve known each other for as long as you say, the best way to reach him was through you. I didn’t know if he’d even be interested in coming at all. Weddings don’t seem like a serpent’s favorite past time.”

“Well, he’s definitely more than just a serpent,” Aziraphale said, not sure why he was pursing his lips in distaste. “Anyway, so long as there are spirits, he’ll definitely have a good time. Not—Not in the rambunctious way, of course. I wouldn’t let him try to steal your spotlight. Not that he would. Crowley’s really quite shy when he’s out of his element.” 

For some reason, Anathema chuckled at him. 

“I-I do believe I’ve missed something,” Aziraphale said, licking his lips anxiously. He did so hate to be butt of other’s jokes.

“You two really are something,” she said. “I expect an invitation for your wedding. Assuming you two aren’t already—”

“Crowley and I aren’t a couple!” Aziraphale said, laughing anxiously. “At any rate, even if we were, a holy matrimony… Well, it’s not meant for angels or demons. It’s for humans. A beautiful, beautiful blessing of the Almighty for you humans.”

“Oh—Oh, I’m glad you mentioned it,” Anathema said, cutting him off. “There’s… Well, I hate to be falling for some kind of stereotype or anything, but I don’t want… Look, there’s going to be priest because Newt’s mother wouldn’t have it any other way. There’s going to be some...some aspects of blessings. Is Mr. Crowley going to be alright for that?”

“Oh, dear… Yes, that does pose a problem. I think so long as he himself isn’t blessed, he’ll be alright.”

“Good. That’s good. Say—Mr. Fell, I don’t know too many people over here and my mom is coming for a few days to help with the dress and everything, but… I wondered if you’d like to join in some of the planning? I haven’t gone cake tasting yet and thought you might know some good local places.”

“I know all the best,” Aziraphale said, positively beaming at the thought. 

“Anything to stop his mother from baking the cake. She wants to be helpful, but...I want a big cake. Like the movies.”

They talked a while about mothers and traditions, cakes and lace gowns. 

And then ended up talking about Crowley. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was Anathema or himself who brought him up again. But he did know, by the end of the call, that he was terribly excited to discuss it all with the demon himself. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Aziraphale was waiting outside the bakery, holding a wrapped gift in his hands. He didn’t think it was customary to bring a present to a cake-tasting, but he was so delighted to have been included in the wedding planning that he just had to express his gratitude somehow. 

“Ah, Anathema!” He called, waving as the woman appeared around the corner of the block. She had her mother with her, he knew, and Newt’s mother. 

“This is him, Mom. Be polite,” Anathema said. 

“He’s the shopkeeper, right?” Her mother whispered.

“Yes.”

“He’s old!” Newt’s mother whispered.

Aziraphale could hear their conversation even though they were still too far away for it to be natural by human ear. He didn’t let the bickering get to him, though. 

“Mr. Fell, it’s good to see you again,” Anathema said, hugging him as soon as they were close enough to touch. It caught him off guard, but he tried to act natural and hug back while the two mothers stood awkwardly behind her, smiling at him.

“I brought you a little something. No need to open it now. Let’s focus on getting you the most splendid cake for your big day,” he said, beaming as she accepted the present and showed it to her mother—well, _mothers_ Aziraphale guessed.

They went into the bakery and tried two more throughout the day, resulting in a decision and celebratory drinks over dinner at a lovely Italian spot, Aziraphale’s suggestion. The mothers seemed to have warmed up to him (not that it was particularly hard for an angel to charm people), but after two bottles of white wine between the four of them, their politeness became a bit intimate. 

“She mentioned you had a little, er, gentleman friend,” Newt’s mother said, smiling at him in a way that made Aziraphale nervous. 

“Well, I-I have many friends,” Aziraphale said, smiling anxiously and taking a sip of wine.

“No! No, no! A _special_ friend,” she pressed.

“Oh—You do mean, Crowley. Yes. My best friend.” He looked anxiously down at his empty plate, having nothing but his wineglass to hide behind. 

“Please don’t,” Anathema said, trying to sound lighthearted. “Mr. Fell, I’m sorry,” she said, offering him a sympathetic grin. “They’re just very curious about you.”

“Nothing to be curious about. Good friends are quite common. I’m sure you all have best friends at home,” Aziraphale said, trying not to kill the joyful mood. 

“Oh… Oh, is he not…?” The mothers shared a knowing glance with each other, then looked at Aziraphale. He did very much feel like an exhibit in the zoo. 

“No,” Aziraphale said, rather more firmly than he’d intended. “He is not. _We_ are not. We’re not a couple,” he said, looking to Anathema for help.

Anathema changed the subject rather quickly and the whole ordeal ended with a rather polite and apologetic call from the bride-to-be later that evening after she returned home. 

“I am so, so sorry. I might’ve told them… I assumed before that you and he… I’m sorry. That was entirely my fault. I didn’t expect her to interrogate you over dinner. They’re just curious about you is all.”

“I do understand,” Aziraphale said, putting aside his own discomfort as he could tell how upset it had made Anathema. “It’s alright. In another hundred years...” Realizing what he’d been about to say, Aziraphale promptly bit his tongue. Reminding the woman of the fragility of human mortality was not a thing to say before a wedding. “Ah, what I meant to say was, a hundred years _ago_ I would’ve feared being persecuted for such a thing. For me, as you’d imagine, that still feels rather fresh. I forget that in today’s climate, no one is going to come for me and Crowley with pitchforks. But, even so, we are _not_ a couple.”

“Of course, of course! I’m sorry. I did tell them that on the drive home. I don’t think they believed me.”

“I just hate that it seems to have distracted from your big day, is all,” Aziraphale said, by way of trying to trick the American into ending the discussion. 

“Mr. Fell, I know before you said that marriage was for humans… Is that to say, for angels and demons, you don’t need romance or anything? Do angels fall in love?”

“We love everything,” Aziraphale said, looking over his shoulder as if he expected the Metatron to appear and scold him for talking about any of this with mortals. There wasn’t a law that said he couldn’t, but it certainly wasn’t wise. It could lead to all sorts of trouble. 

“But what about romantic love? I’m sorry… That’s too personal to ask. I’m just curious. I thought for sure you and Mr. Crowley were a pair at the airbase. You seemed so—”

“Well, we are a pair,” Aziraphale said. “Just not in that sense. We don’t have human impulses or customs to uphold. That is to say, we don’t have the urge to...to reproduce or anything of that sort which might _define_ a human couple.”

“And you wouldn’t want to? Just to see what it’s like?”

Truly, the question had him rather stunned. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought about it, but to have another living creature ask him (a creature who wasn’t Crowley, at any rate) left him speechless. 

“Sorry… Must still be the wine,” she said, clicking her tongue. “I hope we haven’t upset you. I had a lot of fun today and I-I really don’t want to make you uncomfortable. We’re trying on dresses next weekend.”

“Oh, that will be lovely,” Aziraphale said. His mind felt pulled in seven different directions as the call wound down to an end. When he’d placed his phone back on the receiver, he felt his heart sink and wasn’t sure why. 

Greed wasn’t really a sin he enjoyed entertaining. Gluttony, maybe when it came to sushi and crepes, but not greed...not envy. 

So why did he now feel that he had been denied something? That he should want something more? 

As quickly as the feeling rushed him, Aziraphale shook it away. How could he even think he wanted more when he’d already determined that the bookshop felt cramped with how often Crowley was here? He couldn’t both want him around _more_ and _less._

Foolishness. The human girl had just gotten into his head. This was _not_ going to be like the time he got caught up in Shakespeare’s sonnets or Byron’s poems… Or dear Oscar’s words of love. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again and spend a decade wallowing in self-pity because, as an angel, he didn’t get to enjoy in romantic love. God made him to love all things equally, not to love one thing more than all else—except _Her_ of course. Of course his love for Her came first, but… 

This was silly. He had no right to be jealous of the gift of love which She instilled specifically in humankind. He had no right to be greedy and wish for more. What he had was enough.

Perfectly enough!

( ) ( ) ( )

“Since when have you got a smart phone?” Crowley asked, peering over the back of Aziraphale’s reading chair.

“Oh this? Anathema added me to her and Newt’s ‘family’ plan! She said they get a discount on their rate and got me this phone for next to nothing. She was rather happy with the vintage wines I gave her for the wedding.” Truthfully, Aziraphale struggled to make sense of the device, but he enjoyed this new website called ‘E-Bay’ where he could place bids on rare books. It was like being a part of the world’s largest auction at any hour of the night! 

“You didn’t give her the bottle I gave you, did you?” Crowley asked.

“Of course not! What sort of friend would I be?”

“Friend… Yes.” All at once, Crowley had pulled away and draped himself across the couch. He put on his sunglasses which Aziraphale thought a touch strange, and crossed his arms behind his head. “I hear there’s going to be a priest.”

“Yes...”

“I think I’ll come round for the reception. Ceremonies aren’t really my thing.”

“I worried the blessings might make you uncomfortable...”

“I probably shouldn’t go at all. It’s not like they’re my friends.”

“They are too! And you’re going. Adam will be there!”

“Right. Antichrist. Of course… Sounds like the opening to a joke. An angel, a demon, and the Antichrist walk into a wedding.” His voice held no humor.

“What’s got you so upset?”

“Nothing, angel. It’s nothing. What’s the next activity she’s invited you to? Dresses?”

“No. She settled on one last weekend. And the venue was already decided. I...er, dissuaded her from a church. I knew you wouldn’t be able to go if that were the case.”

“You don’t have to go ruining her wedding just so I can come.”

“Ruining? Crowley, don’t be silly. She’s a witch and didn’t want a cathedral wedding that much to begin with. It was the boy’s mother who wanted it the most. Now, do tell me why you’re in such a bad mood.”

“Demon,” he said, as if that were an excuse.

“You’re _pouting._ Did you want to go dress shopping? If you’d asked—”

“No, I didn’t want to go dress shopping,” Crowley snapped, fixing him with an exasperated gaze.

“Then what’s this about?” Aziraphale asked, meeting his eyes with a rather put-on pout of his own. 

“Why did you get a smart phone?”

“I told you! Anathema gave it to me.”

“I offered to buy you one months ago—you told me no. You said they were stupid.”

“You’re jealous!” Aziraphale said, more out of surprise than an accusation. Crowley took it for the latter and sat up on the couch. 

“They’re going to die,” he said.

“That’s rude! Don’t go saying that at the wedding,” Aziraphale said. 

“I—That’s not… Do you really think I’m that dumb? Angel, these are humans. Haven’t you learned by now not to get attached to humans? They have this awful habit of doing this tricky little thing called _dying._ What are you getting attached to them for?”

“Life is for living, Crowley. I would like to spend my time on the Earth knowing the humans rather than just watching them. It’s very rare I’m invited to such personal things. I’m _going_ to enjoy it.”

“Yeah… Enjoy _knowing_ them,” Crowley muttered, settling back down on the couch.

He was mad, but he didn’t want to leave. _That_ was what made the shop feel so cramped half the time. Crowley would do things like this and Aziraphale had absolutely nowhere to go to be rid of him, and he feared asking him to leave would cause him to stay gone for good. 

“You didn’t text me, either,” Crowley said after some time.

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve had this phone for how long and still had me calling the shop to talk to you? Were you not planning to give me your new number?”

“I was going to give it to you while you were here! Stop reading into things.”

Aziraphale stood from his reading chair and came over to the couch, reaching down to grab Crowley’s legs and lift them—earning a startled “mmf” from the demon—so he could sit down with the demon’s ankles crossed over his lap.

“I know they’ll die,” he said softly, rubbing his hand gently over Crowley’s leg, near his ankle. “But I do enjoy making friends. Don’t you get lonely?”

“When I get lonely, I come here,” Crowley said, shrugging as best he could while lying down. “I spend time with you. Because you’re immortal. And neither of us are going anywhere.”

“And if I weren’t?” Aziraphale asked. “If I were just a human, would you still come by and visit?”

“But you’re not… And you won’t ever be.”

“Well, if you were human, I’d still visit you,” Aziraphale said, patting Crowley’s ankle. 

“Like you did with Oscar Wilde?” Crowley asked, head tipped back as he stared at the ceiling.

“Oscar was a bright young man… Terrible what they did to him. But yes. I would visit you like I did Oscar.”

“Anathema isn’t some great writer. She’s not going to leave behind a legacy of literature for you to pour over. And neither is Newt.”

“And neither will you,” Aziraphale countered.

“But I’m not _going_ anywhere.”

“Eventually you’ll get bored of my shop and you—”

“Or you’ll get bored of _having_ me in your shop, is that it?” Crowley sat up, pulling his legs away from Aziraphale and made to stand. “You like humans _because_ they die. I get it.”

“Oh, shut it!” Aziraphale snapped. “I don’t want to hear you talking like that. For your information, I’ve been _glad_ to have you around the shop. You’ve been my only friend for six thousand years and I’ve _enjoyed_ being able to spend this much time together without being in fear of getting caught. Now tell me why you’re upset!”

Crowley, instead of answering, made his way to the bookshop door and left, muttering something about “friends for six thousand years” under his breath as he did so. 

( ) ( ) ( )

“And this ‘app’ is for making friends?” Aziraphale asked, peering at the screen of his phone through his reading glasses. He didn’t need them, but he imagined he must look charming as he wore them to examine his gadget.

“Yeah—for making new friends of all kinds,” Newt said, careful not to touch the phone in case it malfunctioned. 

“Oh, that’s rather exciting! I have struggled in this modern era. It’s not like the old days. You know, I used to be part of this gentleman’s club back in the day—no, I know what you’re thinking. Not like _today’s_ clubs, at any rate. Why, all you had to do back then was go up to a person and say ‘hello’ and you could be invited to join a club or be invited to meetings and rallies. Today, if I were to do that, I might end up shot at.”

“Well, no one’s going to shoot you on here. Unless they ‘shoot you a text,’ right?” Newt asked, smiling at him. 

Over the next hour or so, the nice boy helped to set up Aziraphale’s ‘profile,’ promising the photos he selected were tasteful and appealing. They came up with a short, two sentence description of himself and listed off his hobbies. Almost immediately, he started to get little notifications of people who wanted to be his friend. 

Around the time he had begun conversations with three different gentlemen about books and local restaurants, Crowley and Anathema came back from the grocery store. She had thought it a good idea for all of them to spend more time together as friends instead of just her and Aziraphale after he’d told her about the row he and Crowley had had. Crowley must be lonely, she told him, and too ashamed to admit it. He didn’t want replaced by Aziraphale’s new human friends.

“How was the trip?” Newt asked, going to her and kissing her. Aziraphale watched them, noticed the way Crowley leaned away from the happy couple, and then felt like a voyeur and turned his attention back to his phone. 

“It was good. There’s still more groceries in the car. Can you help me?”

“Of course. Er, we’ll be right back,” Newt said, nodding to Aziraphale before stepping out to help unload groceries. 

“You look pleased,” Crowley said, coming to sit beside Aziraphale on Anathema’s couch. 

“Newt showed me this new ‘app’ to meet friends.”

“Which one’s that? Facebook? I’ll add you on mine.” Crowley started taking his phone out of his pocket, lifting his sunglasses to rest on the top of his head.

“No. I’m not sure what he called it. Here—look! I’m already making friends,” Aziraphale said, showing his phone to Crowley who, for some reason, immediately looked close to tears. It was an expression Aziraphale had never seen on his face before—a look close to betrayal. A look of absolute pain. “Oh… Oh, dear. Are you alright?”

“Course,” Crowley said, his phone sliding back into his pocket and his sunglasses coming down to cover his eyes. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, beginning to feel nervous. He checked his phone screen, wondering if there had been something rude written on it—or maybe one of the people he’d made friends with had sent a verse from the bible. One had really enjoyed Aziraphale’s spirituality. Perhaps he sent a message too holy that hurt Crowley just by looking at it.

However, the screen showed nothing except the list of messages. The single one left unread, in bold text, simply said “You are something else!” That shouldn’t upset Crowley.

“Whoa… Everything okay in here?” Anathema asked, suddenly reappearing in the doorway. 

Aziraphale looked at her and then glanced at Crowley, stammering for words. Crowley was ignoring both of them in favor of staring at the wall beside the couch, one fist raised to his mouth as if he were poised to cough though no sound came out. His posture was the very definition of tense, however, and Aziraphale didn’t know how to explain it.

“I… Maybe he just needs a minute,” Aziraphale said, trying to place a hand on Crowley’s shoulder just to have the demon shrug it away forcefully. 

“Did something happen while you were shopping?” Newt whispered to her, getting a roll of the eyes in response. 

“Give them a minute,” she whispered back, pulling him into the kitchen to put away the groceries. They continued whispering to each other, though Aziraphale could hear much of what they said. “What did you and Mr. Fell get up to?”

“I showed him Tinder.”

“You did what?”

“Tinder! He said he wanted to meet people.”

“Meet—people! _People,_ people. Not _meet_ people. You idiot.”

“Oh… What’s that got to do with _him_ though? Why’s he all mad?”

“Oh, I don’t know, probably because his _boyfriend_ is now on Tinder? You moron.” Someone got hit with a dish towel. 

“Was it…the website?” Aziraphale asked, wondering why Anathema had gone back to the assumption that he and Crowley were more than friends. 

Crowley took in a deep, long breath and shivered. 

“It’s nothing, angel,” he said, forcing his posture to relax though his lips remained pressed in a thin line. 

“You’re very upset...”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“Now’s not the time, Aziraphale. Later. Just… Later. Have your _fun._ I’m going to wait in the car. Don’t hurry on my account.” And with that, he stood up to leave and was gone before Aziraphale or Anathema could say a word to him. 

“I don’t understand,” Aziraphale said, chuckling anxiously. It had never been his intention to cause a scene. “I’m afraid we must be going...”

“Are you sure? We could take you home… Or if you wanted to stay the night—”

“I think it best we talk about this sooner rather than later. I’m afraid if I let him stew, he tends to disappear.”

“Mr. Fell?” Anathema said, smiling at him almost piteously. Newt, behind her, was looking rather sheepish while tucking produce into the fridge. 

“Yes?”

“Tell Mr. Crowley how you feel.”

“I’m afraid I don’t—” He didn’t get a chance to answer as the woman hugged him. “And delete that app off your phone. Those men only want one thing from you.”

Aziraphale stared at her a moment, mulling over the words until the realization dawned on him.

“Oh—Oh! Oh, no. No. You think that—?”

“Yes. I know it. And so does Mr. Crowley.”

“You mean to say… He thinks that I…? Oh dear!” Aziraphale departed the home as quickly as if it were on fire and practically fell into Crowley’s death trap. “Good heavens!”

“What are you on about?” Crowley asked, starting the car with a heavy sigh.

“I hadn’t realized the groom-to-be put me on a sex workers’ website! You really must show me how to delete it when we get home.”

“When _we_ get home?” Crowley asked.

“Yes! Back to the shop at once. I should like to stop this charade before it goes any further. Why, the authorities could even become involved. It has my photograph!” Aziraphale protested. No wonder Crowley had been so upset at him when he saw the app. He’d thought Aziraphale was going to go meeting mortals to lay with them for money! Why, Aziraphale would’ve been equally repulsed if Crowley had suggested doing such a thing.

Why in the world had Newt gotten that impression of him?


	2. Chapter 2

The ceremony went off without a hitch—well, except for Crowley’s coughing fit in the middle of the priest’s divine opening speech which subsequently ended in his not being present again until the reception. Anathema gave Aziraphale a pitying look from her stance at the altar and Aziraphale met it with an apologetic gaze. He really did appreciate Crowley for trying to sit through it, especially given his tumultuous moods as of late.

He really hadn’t been himself since the sex worker app mix up (though he did delete the app for Aziraphlae as soon as they were back at the shop) and Aziraphale had feared he wouldn’t come to the wedding at all. But alas, he showed up to the bookshop in a nice suit the morning of the wedding and promised to drive at a responsible speed to the venue. 

“I’ve never been to a wedding just for the fun before,” he said as he drove along. “Usually I had to be there to do some tempting.”

“Oh?”

“Promise I’ll be on my best behavior tonight. Don’t want to piss off your friends by making the maid of honor sleep with the groom.”

“Well, the honorary maid of honor is Pepper. Anathema doesn’t have many friends over here. She’s having a second ceremony in America for her family and friends that couldn’t come.”

“No one can afford a plane ticket? She comes from a wealthy family. I don’t think she wanted anyone to come.”

And so they’d bickered back and forth until they arrived at the venue. They found Newt right away and he introduced them to some of his groomsmen. Crowley hid behind his sunglasses and played disinterested very well while Aziraphale was polite for the both of them.

Now that it had come time for the reception and the alcohol was flowing, Crowley had loosened up a bit and seemed more himself. He had congratulated Anathema several times and did the same for Newt—though he did tack in an odd “And thanks again for getting Aziraphale on Tinder. We _really_ appreciated that.”

Guests began dropping by their table, probably drawn in by Aziraphale’s holy grace, but they stayed because Crowley seemed a natural born conversationalist. He would talk about anything to anyone—politics, religion, business, food. Anything. People seemed to like what he had to say and Crowley seemed to like the attention. 

It made Aziraphale smile to see him so engrossed in his interactions with the humans. 

Oh, and Adam Young! How marvelous it was to get to see him again. His parents seemed a bit dubious but held polite conversation with Aziraphale while Crowley chatted with Adam.

“Marvelous work on the old shop—and the Bentley. Best present I’ve ever gotten.” He was, Aziraphale would admit, probably a tad too drunk to be talking with children, but no one complained out loud. “I had you in it when you were just a baby. Did I ever tell you that? Probably shouldn’t mention that—right, angel?”

“Right, my dear,” Aziraphale said, probably a tad dismissively. It was hard to maintain composure under the Youngs’ intense stare. They were rather suspicious, as they ought to be, of these two seemingly middle-aged folks so interested and familiar with their son. (A simple miracle had Mrs. Young disregarding what she’d heard about Adam being in Crowley’s car as a baby.)

As the reception wound down, Aziraphale gave his final congratulations to the newlyweds with a very inebriated Crowley wobbling around at his side. He still had a plastic cup of wine in his hand and was a long way from reaching his limit, but the humans seemed worried about him. 

“Are you two staying at the hotel?” Anathema asked. 

“Oh, yes. I did reserve a room on the chance that this would happen,” Aziraphale said, patting Crowley’s arm only to have the demon sway horribly back and forth. 

“What’s happened?” Crowley asked.

“You,” Aziraphale said. “But yes, we’ve reserved a room.”

“Perhaps you’ll want to join us for breakfast in the morning?” Anathema asked. “We’ve heard good things about the place across the street.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to intrude. First night together and all.” He smiled at her and she and Newt shared a knowing look. Ah, so like most modern couples, they didn’t wait to get to know each other. How disappointing. 

“No intrusion. You’re more than welcome. You too, Mr. Crowley,” Newt said to Crowley who, for some reason, took off his sunglasses and dropped them on the floor. 

Aziraphale stooped to pick them up. 

“If you keep this up, I won’t open the wine I placed in the room,” Aziraphale said.

“What room? We haven’t got a room. Or do you mean the back room? Are we going home to the shop?”

“Hotel room. And yes, we have one. I really fear we must go. It was a lovely evening. You were so beautiful, my dear,” Aziraphale said to Anathema. 

They bid each other farewell while Crowley finished off his plastic cup of wine. Aziraphale walked arm and arm with him to the hotel, about a block or so down the street. 

“I really do like this suit on you,” Aziraphale said.

“I really like this cup on you,” Crowley said, setting his empty cup atop Aziraphale’s head and laughing. 

“Oh, do be serious,” Aziraphale rebuked, taking the cup and setting it in a wastebasket on the corner. 

“Do we really have a room?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Why do we have a room? Let’s just go to the bar. I’m not in the mood for a nap.”

“I told you, I put our wine there.”

“When?”

“When I told you I put it there. I even miracled for a key card. See? Room three hundred and ten.”

“You don’t want to share a room with me,” Crowley said, tripping over the curb and almost falling. 

“You were quite a hit tonight. I think I saw quite a few ladies try to get your attention,” Aziraphale said, disregarding Crowley’s nonsensical protest to their room. 

“Ladies _always_ want my attention. Couldn’t have made it more obvious I’d come with you. I put my arm around you before that priest started yapping. Did you notice?”

“I did.”

“I tried to at dinner, but you moved away from me.”

“It was rather stuffy in that banquet hall. I promise it wasn’t you.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Crowley said, suddenly flinging his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders as they made their way up to the third floor in the hotel elevator. “Say, angel, why didn’t you add me on Facebook?”

“On Facebook? Oh—Crowley, I gave up on those silly apps a week after Newt gave me that phone. I’m still horribly embarrassed he thought I was seeking, er, gentlemen of the night. I didn’t want to do anything that could be misconstrued again.”

“It’s not a sex worker app, angel. It’s a dating app. To meet dating partners. He put you on a dating site—find you some, some gentlemen callers. Some man to court you. Is that what you want? Some guy to come along and spew sonnets and the like? You know, I’m awful at poetry.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, opening the door and letting Crowley saunter in first, still rambling about poetry and dating apps. 

“You did bring the wine! Oh, and my cup! Angel, you are marvelous. Truly a marvel.” He wasted no time sitting down in the chair by the little end table where the wine bottle sat and opening the bottle. “Angel?”

“Yes, Crowley? What is it?” Aziraphale asked, closing the door and taking off his coat. He paused as he hung it in the little closet beside the door, realizing Crowley was staring at him—smiling. “What?”

“You didn’t bring any books.”

“No. I didn’t,” Aziraphale said, coming to sit in the chair across from Crowley’s. The demon poured him a glass of wine, then set the bottle down, still smiling to himself. “Can we talk for a moment?”

“Right now? Should I sober up? Very cruel of you to take me back to a hotel, give me wine, and tell me to sober up,” Crowley said, still sounding a bit playful.

“If you think you need to in order to hold a conversation.”

Crowley took a sip of wine, then met Aziraphale’s gaze.

“Am I in trouble for something? I told you I’d try to make it through the ceremony. Holy scripture _hurts_ me, angel. It _hurts._ Don’t think I didn’t try to bear it.”

“No, not about that, Crowley. You did wonderful. I wouldn’t have wanted you to sit through it in pain. Nor would Anathema.”

“So what are you on about?” Crowley asked, taking another drink. “Am I in trouble?”

“No—Not at all. I wanted to ask you something.”

“Well, you’re making it scary with all the fuss,” Crowley said, wriggling down into the uncomfortable hotel chair. 

“Do you...think the shop is too small for two people to enjoy?”

“Too small? You’ve got room for like...I don’t know. Twenty guests at a time. How could you say it’s too small for two people?”

“I mean… To stay in. Is it too small for two people to stay in? Comfortably? To you?”

“Who all is staying there? You’re not inviting Newt and Book Girl to stay, are you?”

“No—Crowley, maybe you should sober up. Or—Or maybe I should ask you some other time.” Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh and drank his wine. Crowley didn’t seem bothered to put the conversation on hold. “One more question, Crowley, if you don’t mind?”

“Hmn? Is it about the Antichrist?”

“What? No—Why would I ask you about the Antichrist?”

Crowley shrugged and shimmied a bit in his seat as if to say “why are you asking me anything?”

“It’s about that app Newt put me on—with all the sex workers.”

“They’re not _sex workers._ It’s a bunch of lonely single people too busy or shy to go out.”

“So why did it… Why did me being on that app make you...so upset?”

“I wasn’t upset!”

“Crowley, you looked like you wanted to cry!” Aziraphale said, hiding behind the rim of his cup.

“I don’t cry! I’m a demon! Demons don’t cry!”

“Well you almost cried. I was worried… I thought you had been offended. But...If they’re not sex workers, then why were you so upset?”

“Why was I upset?” Crowley asked, setting down his cup and sloppily filling it back up. 

“I just want to know so it doesn’t happen again in the future.”

“Why was I upset?” Crowley repeated. “Oh, I don’t know. I try to buy you a phone, you say no. I try to add you on Facebook, you ignore me. I spend every day, most often, at your place, and you get on some app trying to meet these humans who are gonna die in a handful of years like I’m not good enough for you. ‘S what.” Crowley took a long drink of wine and then sloshed more into his cup. His face looked pained, but before Aziraphale could get a word in, Crowley started up again. “You’d rather be courted by a bunch of humans who are gonna die than spend eternity with me.”

Aziraphale felt as if he’d been immersed in a pool of ice water. Crowley had read that much into a simple mishap with an app? 

“You poor boy… You really think that’s true?” Aziraphale asked, setting down his cup and sliding the wine bottle away from Crowley’s side of the small table. 

“Well, it certainly was with Oscar. He told me about you and your nights together.”

“Nights together? Good heavens! We drank and talked literature—sometimes he told me about the...the men he enjoyed. That was all. What did he tell you!?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Crowley said, shrugging. 

“No, it does! What did he say to you?”

“He said ‘Ezra’s got a boy in mind. Sorry for your luck,’” Crowley said.

“He didn’t talk like that!” Aziraphale barked.

“He said it with twice as many words, but that’s the gist of it. Didn’t take long to see he meant himself. Then that had me thinking Shakespeare and… And Whitman and everybody else. Everybody but me. Angel prefers _human_ companionship… So I waited and I waited and then Armageddon happened and you didn’t seem to have any fellow around and...then you had that—that app. Meeting nobodies. I could be second to a poet or a writer. You love books. I don’t want to be second to some...fisherman. Some accountant. Some...loser you met on the Internet.”

Crowley glanced up from his wine, looking humbled and sad, then immediately dropped his gaze.

“Second? You mean to say, all this time, you’ve...you’ve wanted more than to be friends?” Aziraphale felt himself starting to smile like a fool, despite the low mood of his companion. It felt a bit selfish, but he was positively elated. 

“No,” Crowley said, shaking his head. “I just like being in your shop for the reading.”

“I… I didn’t realize a demon could—”

“Course. ‘Cause I’m damned, I can’t feel anything. Can’t be loved by Her or anybody. I know.”

“That’s not how I meant it! Until recently I didn’t even think angels could...in that way.”

“In what way?” Crowley asked, setting down his cup and shifting around in his seat again. 

Aziraphale dropped his gaze and tapped at the walls of his wineglass. 

“Do you think the shop is too small for two people?” Aziraphale asked, in lieu of admitting what was too hard to describe in words.

“It’s not that it’s too small, angel. It’s just that it’s yours. I enjoy being there about as much as you enjoy my flat. I only go there because you’re there, and I know you hate my place and I do hate to see you uncomfortable.”

“Do you think… Do you think there’s any solution to that?”

“To what, angel?” Crowley said, snatching the wine bottle and taking a drink from it despite Aziraphale’s gasp of disapproval. He had wine in his cup still, why did he need to drink from the bottle?

“Perhaps we’ll discuss this another time. You’ve had quite a lot to drink.”

“And you’ve not had enough,” Crowley said, clicking his tongue. “This place got a mini bar?”

“No. You’ve had quite enough.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Why are you upset with me? I thought we were having fun! I talked to all the humans—it was you who said no to dancing. So you can’t blame me for that. I would’ve danced with you.”

“The only dance I know is the gavotte,” Aziraphale said, somewhat shamefully. “Besides, I thought it would be a spectacle. I didn’t want to distract from the lovely bride.”

“Well, you already did. No one there’s more lovely than you, angel,” Crowley said, smiling a little bit before suddenly seeming to realize what he’d said. He promptly set down the wine bottle as if it had burnt him. 

Aziraphale smiled at him a little, then finished his own glass of wine before taking the bottle and pouring the last of it into his glass. Crowley was really going to need to miracle himself sober before he gave his poor human body alcohol poisoning from having drank so much so quickly. 

“Crowley… It has been six thousand years.”

“I know that. Why are you telling me that for?”

“I just wanted to know if there’s something more you want from me,” Aziraphale said, watching Crowley’s eyes.   
�They went wide, his pupils narrowing into thin slits and then blowing out rapidly—the yellow color taking over the whites of his eyes. 

“I… I want? Well… What do you want, angel? What do you want?”

“Oh, I hardly know… Perhaps to know what it feels like to be a human. To be entitled to that sort of love, not just the divine.” He checked Crowley’s reaction, finding the demon to be wiggling forward to the edge of his seat.

“That’s why you want to date humans? You think they’re the only ones who can give that to you?” Crowley asked, sounding like he’d been shot through the heart. 

“No! I don’t want to court humans! I’m asking about—about _you,_ you dumb, oblivious serpent! How could you not know?”

“Me? I’ve been trying to… I-I’ve been… Ah!” Crowley covered his face with his hands and sobered up with an uncomfortable groan. “Why do you think I’m always around? You don’t need some human to be loved, angel. I might be a demon, but I _can_ love you. I’ve been trying to show you. Didn’t want to scare you away…”

“You couldn’t possibly scare me away, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, reaching across the table to place a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “I love you. As an angel, yes… And as a man.” 

Crowley lowered his hands from his face and peered at him, eyes looking a little less wild—the whites returned to their edges. Aziraphale smiled at him and raised a hand to cup his cheek. 

“Book Girl put you up to this, didn’t she?” He asked, pulling away.

“No,” Aziraphale said with a small laugh. “Though she might’ve helped me realize it. I’m afraid I might’ve waited another six thousand years for you to make a move. But you weren’t ever going to.”

“I would,” Crowley argued, looking around the room nervously. “Didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable in all of this,” Aziraphale said, finishing his glass of wine. 

“I have a question, angel,” Crowley said, peering around the room some more. 

“Of course.”

“Did you choose to tell me this in a hotel room for its convenience or did you have something else in mind?” Crowley asked, finally meeting his gaze again.

“Whatever do you mean? You were certainly too drunk to drive us home.”

Crowley nodded, then passed Aziraphale a nervous smile before looking down at his empty cup. 

“I did bring a second bottle if you’d like another drink,” Aziraphale said, producing a bottle with a snap of his fingers. Crowley’s eyes lit up a bit and he took the bottle in hand, opening it with a snap and pouring a glass for each of them. 

“So...to what are we drinking?” Crowley asked, holding up his cup as if to make a toast.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale said, holding up his glass and pondering it a moment. “Each other?”

“Ah, yes.” Crowley tipped his cup forward, gently clinking it to Aziraphale’s. “To the happy couple.”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks grow hot and lowered his gaze to the table a moment before meeting Crowley’s eyes. The serpent was smiling at him around the rim of his cup, looking devilishly pleased. 

“What? Was I too forward?” He asked, licking the wine from his upper lip.

“No. No, I suppose not. Just wasn’t expecting it,” Aziraphale said, grinning nervously. “To the happy couple,” he added, taking a long drink of wine which did nothing to help the flush in his cheeks. 

For what it was worth, over breakfast with Anathema and Newt the following morning, Aziraphale noted they did _not_ make use of the bed. Crowley, for what it was worth, implied that it wasn’t for lack of trying and ignored the well-directed slap to his shoulder as he finished off his second mimosa. 

( ) ( ) ( )

Crowley was snuggled into Aziraphale’s back, making his organization of the bookshelf quite impossible. He had been kneeling on the floor to get the books out of their box, and Crowley had for whatever reason, taken that as an invitation to drape himself over his back. 

“Did you get the kitchen unpacked?” Aziraphale asked him.

“With a snap.”

“And the bedroom?”

“Just the same,” Crowley said, nuzzling the back of Aziraphale’s neck and letting out a loud sigh. He knew now wasn’t the time to be a distraction, and yet here he was.

“How are the plants settling in?”

“About as well as these books. When are you taking a break?”

“When I am finished.”

“How long’s that going to be?”

“Why do you insist on being a nuisance? Go find more to unpack if you’re bored.”

“You know, when I said I didn’t mind being second to a writer—I really meant the _writer._ I don’t want to be second to your _books.”_

Aziraphale let out a sigh and set down the volumes he’d been readying for the shelf. So he wanted to play it like that, did he?

“I just want to get my books put away so that we can relax together. Is that so hard?” Aziraphale asked, feeling Crowley’s weight on his back steadily increase.

“No, but I don’t see why we can’t take a break. We’ve got all eternity. Why do you need to alphabetize right now?”

“I’m not alphabetizing! And yes, we have all of eternity. So let me finish and we can get right to it,” Aziraphale said, pursing his lips as Crowley finally pulled back and let him go.

“Fine. I’ll be on the couch with a bottle of scotch.”

“Do you really think drinking is necessary this early in the day?” Aziraphale asked.

“Do you really think nagging’s gonna change anything?” Crowley asked, smirking at him from behind his sunglasses as he sauntered out of the room. 

Aziraphale grumbled to himself while returning his focus to his books. It took quite some time before he was at a good stopping point, not even close to finished, before decided it would be better if they compromised and he went downstairs. He found Crowley huddled up on their new couch, sipping scotch from a fine crystal tumbler and while flipping through pages on his tablet. 

“Look who finally decided to join us,” Crowley said to no one in particular, not taking his eyes off the screen. 

“Well if you’re going to complain, I’ll go right back upstairs.”

“I poured you some wine. ‘S in the kitchen.”

“Oh—Oh, I wasn’t expecting to drink, but, er, thank you,” Aziraphale said, making his way around the corner into their quaint little kitchen. The bottle of white wine Anathema and Newt had given them for a housewarming present was open with a glass poured and waiting, as Crowley had said. 

Aziraphale picked it up and sipped at it while checking the cabinets to make sure Crowley had put things away where they made sense and not just where the fancy struck him. Their little cottage was really coming together.

“Angel, there’s a seafood place about fifteen minutes up the road. How’s that sound for dinner tonight?” Crowley asked from his place on the couch. It was much bigger than the one in Aziraphale’s shop, and far more comfortable than the one at Crowley’s. The light-colored fabric was soft to the touch and cushions were just plush enough to feel as if one were sinking into a cloud when they laid on it together. (As Crowley had insisted they do when trying it out at the furniture shop—spectators be damned.)

“Tonight? I still think we have a lot to get done before going out for a meal,” Aziraphale said, coming into the living room to take his seat beside Crowley on the couch. 

The demon turned off his tablet and set it aside on their coffee table while shuffling around to sit closer to Aziraphale. 

“I think after we get everything squared away, we can start planning out the garden,” Aziraphale said, sipping more wine.

“Excellent idea,” Crowley said, scooting a fraction of an inch closer. 

“And perhaps we could attend some estate sales or auctions here soon. I would like to get some artwork to tie the place together.”

“Absolutely,” Crowley said, his chin now rested on Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, feeling rather small under the serpent’s almost predatory gaze. 

“What?” Aziraphale asked, not daring to flinch away. That would just set a game of proverbial cat and mouse into motion and he wasn’t in the mood for hide and seek.

“Nothing,” Crowley said, extending the ‘th’ sound into an almost sinful hiss, scooting forward until his nose was pressed into Aziraphale’s neck, nuzzling him. He let out a soft sigh that had Aziraphale’s skin prickling, then pressed a gentle kiss into the angel’s pulse-point before jerking his head back as if in fear of playful slap. 

Aziraphale took another drink from his glass of wine while Crowley finished off the scotch in his tumbler. 

“Well, I do suppose it would be nice to go for dinner… I’ll want to change clothes first.”

“Excellent idea,” Crowley said, squirming around on the couch until he was laid with his head in Aziraphale’s lap. “I can set up my office when we get back and you can finish with your books.”

Aziraphale smiled and leaned down to press a proper kiss onto Crowley’s mouth, feeling the demon smile against him more so than return the kiss. He reached up, though, and stroked his fingers through Aziraphale’s short hair, holding him in place as his mouth slowly began to work their lips together. It started off gentle, as it always did, and ended with the blasted serpent catching his bottom lip between two deceptively sharp fangs. 

“Bastard,” Aziraphale muttered at him, wiping his lips on his handkerchief before finishing off his wine. In his lap, Crowley chuckled at him and turned his face to burrow it against Aziraphale’s stomach—as if it were a pillow he could pull over his eyes to block out the light despite his sunglasses. 

“But you love me,” Crowley said.

“Yes… Heaven knows why. You’re such a lot of trouble,” Aziraphale said, stroking Crowley’s hair while the demon chuckled at him. Before long, Crowley had captured the hand in his hair and was pressing gentle kisses to it—ending the slew of affection as he always did, with a sharp scrape of teeth.

Aziraphale playfully swatted at Crowley’s knee, then settled in to a long silence while they simply sat together—enjoying the solitude of their new, modest cottage—waiting for it to be time for dinner. 

Perhaps it was the country air or the copious windows to let in the natural sunlight, but here—even with Crowley’s weight pinning him in place on the couch—Aziraphale didn’t feel quite so cramped or trapped. Rather, it felt a bit like being nestled under warm blankets on a cold winter’s night—maybe even with a cup of spiced cider in hand to warm him both inside and out.

It felt a lot like being home.


End file.
